


Chance

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Musician Wilbur Soot, Piglin lore, Piglin-Hybrid Technoblade, Technoblade-centric, no beta we die like dream did 6 times in the duel, philza more like dadza amiright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He’d known it was coming for ages now, with the looks of unease and the growing distrust from his Piglin brethren.Still, he hadn’t expected to be left for dead in a fortress.
Relationships: just the good ol’ family dynamic, no shipping ew lol
Comments: 24
Kudos: 481





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay yeah hey,,,, here’s a self indulgent kinda Techno-centric fic. dw tho, the whole gang is gonna make their appearance eventually (that is, if I ever actually finish this lmao) drop a comment if you like it, and ill post the 2nd chapter soon :]

Technoblade stirs slowly, coming back to consciousness in pieces. There’s a stabbing pain in his abdomen, and the floor is hard and rough beneath him, not the familiar soft netherrack he sleeps on. A fire crackles steadily, lava popping and hissing in the distance. 

He cracks open his eyes, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his sword that must’ve slipped from his grip. The feel of the gold grounds him, and he takes a slow breath. Then another. 

His mind is still fuzzy. He’s not in his village anymore, and he can’t hear the telltale grunts of his Piglin tribe anywhere. _There’d been a fight,_ he remembers. _He’d pissed them off, and then..._

A sudden wave of dizziness rushes over him, nausea stirring in the pit of his stomach. Techno falls back, tightening his grip on the sword. 

_His sword_ , he thinks fondly. There’s the whole predicament of the wound in his abdomen he’s too scared to investigate and his unfamiliar surroundings and shoddy memory, but as long as he has his blade in hand he can make it through anything. 

He remembers he was just a toddler when one of the scouting groups had returned, dumping their loot in the center of the village to be divvied up amongst the people. The blade immediately caught his attention, a chipped gold piece that was long and wickedly curved at the edge. 

He’d stumbled over, clutching the blade to his chest, and hadn’t put it down since. Back then, his tribe was still fond of him, some even finding it amusing and dubbing him “The Blade.”

That was seasons ago, before his differences became more and more noticeable, and looks of admiration turned to disgust. The whispers behind his back grew, questioning his allegiance. They no longer applauded when Techno won tournament after tournament, trouncing his opponents into the dust with a few deft movements, and instead exchanged wary looks.

Techno shakes his head, returning his attention back to his surroundings. He’s in a dark corridor, near the bottom of the Nether if the sticky heat is any indication. The floor is a red brick, not the signature gold or blackstone of a bastion.

He chances it and presses a hand against his stomach. The bottom of his tunic is soaked, and his hand comes away soaked with blood. It’s red and sticky against his palm. 

_Oh,_ he thinks dully as he remembers. _Right._

It was supposed to be a simple fight with one of the guards. The man had challenged him, and Techno could never turn down a duel. Not only to preserve his reputation, but because he didn’t want to. The thrill of a fight was all too alluring to him. 

The conditions were simple enough. Fists only, and the first to fall would be the loser.

~

_Techno’s wrist throbs as he smashes his fist into the side of the man’s face. He was far older than him, and well-seasoned in fighting, but Technoblade refuses to accept defeat._

_The sharp hit to his ribs sends him stumbling, knees hitting the ground hard. A second unexpected one hits his nose with an awful crack._

_Pain explodes throughout his face, but he grits his teeth and shoves it back down. Injuries were only temporary, but glory and fame could last forever._

_He’s back up, bouncing to the soles of his feet before the guard can gain the advantage, and counterattacks. He aims for the face again, and it’s blocked almost immediately._

_The man smirks triumphantly, hand wrapped around his arm, and Techno feels a unnerving grin spread across his face; the man fell for the bait completely. He hooks his leg around and takes the man down, sending him careening to the floor with a thud._

_His opponent attempts to get back up, but a quick kick to the ribs sends him back to the floor._

_Techno waits a few heartbeats, until a victorious cry goes up and he turns to face the crowd._

_A few cheer for him, but they die out far too quickly and he can see the fear written across their faces. The tension and unrest hangs in the air, cloying thick, and Techno knows it’s almost time._

_A boy just a few years shy of adulthood can easily take any of the men in the village in a fight._

_Its time to leave, to either find a new village for himself or go solo for a bit. A village was probably the safer option of the two, but there wasn’t much fun in that._

_They all are staring now, and Techno dips into an awkward bow. He never was good at any of these social things._

_That’s when he sees it. A trickle of blood runs down his nose, falling to the floor. No, he thinks, pressing a hand to his face._

_His hand comes away red, a stark contrast to the golden ichor that piglins bleed._

“Well, fuck.” _He mutters._

_The crowd begins to break out in whispers, a few of the guards coming to approach the fighting ring._

_He heard snatches of conversation, the people growing bolder._ ”Demon,” _one person hisses._ “A good-for-nothing hybrid. Told you that boy was trouble.”

_Techno had always been a bit, well, different. He had five appendages on his hands, a trait he was told took after humans, instead of the typical Piglin hoofs. He didn’t have the traditional nose or eyes either, just two flopping ears and tusks curling up from under his bottom lips, as well as a pink curtain of hair hanging around his face._

_The blood was more difficult to explain._

_Everything in the Nether bled gold. From ghasts, to the occasional Hoglin or Piglin._

_Yet here he was, bleeding red all over the floor in front of his entire village._

_Two guards exchange a look, unsheathing their blades and advancing._

_He pulls his own blade from his trousers, giving it a twirl before sizing up his opponents._

_“Not even giving me a chance to explain, huh?” He drawls. “You lot cut right to the chase.”_

_He dodges the first blow, then the second, and then his blade is slicing across one of the men’s throat. He thumps over, dead._

_It’s the first time he’s killed one of his own kind, and he doesn’t even have time to process it before the other guard is attacking with renewed vigor._

_Their blades strike, and Techno grits his teeth and strains his muscles, forcing the blade back inch by inch._

_He pants through his teeth, eyes meeting the Piglin’s narrowed eyes. He’s overexerting himself-he knows- and the muscles in his arm scream as he pushes hard and sends the blade flying from his attacker’s grip._

_He goes down easily with a blade to the heart, and Techno can hardly muster the energy to pull it back out from the limp body._

_He’s completely forgotten about his earlier opponent, and is completely off-guard when a hand grips his shoulder and drives the blade home through his back._

_He has a barest moment of clarity amongst the pain._ What a rookie mistake, _he thinks, before he succumbs to the pain and falls to the floor._

~

Technoblade blinks rapidly, events of yesterday rushing over him with a startling clarity. Right. So he was presumably exiled, or left for dead, or whatever. 

That still didn’t answer the question of where the hell he was, and why they hadn’t just slit his throat and gotten it over with. 

He unties the cloth still wrapped around his hands from the fight and bandages up his abdomen the best he can. It’s good enough for now, but he knows he needs a better form of medical treatment. The blood still seeping steadily from the wound isn’t a good sign.

With a hiss, he digs his sword into the brick and hefts himself up, inch by inch. With his feet beneath him, he feels even more shitty, if that was even possible. 

He pants against the wall, scanning his surroundings. There’s a small window against the wall, and he peers through the fences only to be greeted by a massive lava lake sprawling beneath him and similar brick tunnels stretching along it. 

They seem to be connected, creating a grand structure almost like a-

Technoblade inhales shakily, recalling stories told around the campfire of elusive fortresses and fiery blazes and skeletons with swords dipped in the most painful of potions. 

The Piglins didn’t just want him gone, they wanted him dead. And in the bloodiest way possible.

“God,” Techno mutters. There seem to be three options here.

Sit and stew in misery until he succumbs to either blood loss or starvation, head up the staircase to his left, or continue down the right and see where the corridor leads. 

As if on cue, a loud _clank_ echoes from the stairwell, a set of distinctly skeletal footsteps walking down the steps briskly. Techno manages to make out a gnarled bony figure, pitch black save for its gleaming eyes, before he’s off.

He forces himself up, sprinting down the seemingly endless hallway. Behind, he can hear the footsteps pick up their pace.

Techno whirls. His injury protests, but he manages to push forward. There’s not one, but three of these skeleton creatures in hot pursuit, stone-hewn swords in their hand. 

_These fortresses are massive structures, spanning entire lava lakes and biomes. Hordes of Piglins have gone in, none ever surviving or managing to conquer the fortress. Inside, creatures such as the blaze thrive, sending fiery bolts and flying through the air._

There’s an intersection up ahead, and he freezes for a moment. To the left, he sees the blaze, a fiery blur in the air as it writhes, and the right appears to be a dead end.

Techno continues forward, the skeletons behind steadily approaching. A _whir_ cuts through the air, and a fire erupts on the floor behind him, just a few inches shy from his feet.

The tunnel ends, the fortress opening up ahead of him, and he can see the true extent of how massive it is. Desolately, he realizes there’s no foreseeable exit either. 

_Worst of all are the dreaded skeleton creatures, better known as Wither Skeletons._

It’s either take on the skeletons behind him or take his chances with pitching himself over the side and hoping the lava gets things over with quickly. 

_Go down swinging_ , Techno reminds himself. 

There’s a small terraced area above, with three of the sides covered save for the entrance. It’ll be a good spot to make his stand-off, and he won’t have to risk anything coming up from behind.

_Swords dipped with a dangerous poison known as the “Wither,” it kills their victim slowly and as painfully as possible, slowly sinking into their heart._

Techno takes a shortcut, pulling himself up to the ledge and leaping across before he can second guess himself. 

He catches the briefest glimpse of a lava lake beneath his feet before he hits the other side, rolling and quickly jumping back to his feet.

His wound is throbbing now, head pounding and mouth uncomfortably dry, but he can’t stop now. _One step at a time_ , he thinks. Take down the wither skeletons, and then he can find a way out of this damn place. 

Techno barely reaches the terraced area, throwing his back against the wall and holding his sword out defensively.

His shortcut buys him a few seconds reprieve, and he focuses on catching his breath, chest heaving. 

He can hear the clattering grow louder, and he swears their footsteps grow slower as they approach. Techno is easy prey, and these monsters know they’ve won. 

They’re like a herd of piglins stalking a hoglin through the forest, knowing they’re just shy of a killing blow. 

“Go down swinging,” he whispers to himself, pushing off the wall and tightening his grip on the sword as the skeletons come into view.

They fan out on the offensive, pinning him effectively into his little corner. Their stone swords aren’t the strongest of blades, but they’re far more durable than gold, and Techno is decidedly _fucked._

He easily parries the first blow, slipping backwards and slicing for the ribcage. His sword glances off the bones harmlessly, and he swears the creature’s mouth contorts in a rough smile.

This is nothing like his sparring, or occasional fight with a Zombified Piglin. These creatures are intelligent, and he doesn’t know their moves or weaknesses yet.

_How the hell do you even kill an undead creature?_ Techno swings his sword in a wild arc as they approach. 

One swings out broadly, blade slicing through the air and landing into the wall. The blade sticks for a fraction of a second, and Techno takes the opportunity and lets his sword fly.

It cuts easily through the bones of its arm, leaving the creature with one hand. The sword bounces to the floor, and Techno grabs it, double wielding his blades.

His confidence resurges, and he gives the blade a test spin. It’s a bit weightier, but more durable and nothing he can’t get used to. 

The now armless skeleton retreats, and Techno is left facing two. Now _this,_ he could potentially handle. 

“C’mon, now,” Techno growls, tusks tugging at the corner of his lips. 

They advance, slow and calculated. As he thought, they both make their attack at the same time.

Techno hits off one blow, ducking from the other and slicing through its ankle. It makes it hesitate for a second, but stands easily and sends its blade crashing back down towards his exposed side.

“Shit,” he mutters. Sparks fly off as the two swords meet with an awful _clank_ and he slashes out at the other skeleton creeping from behind. 

He can’t fight two at once, at least not as effectively, and barely reflects the oncoming hit. It scrapes along his arm, slicing the fabric of his tunic and barely leaving a mark. 

Techno snorts, throwing himself back into the frenzy. The gold sword is his offensive, and he slams it against their bones mercilessly. He uses his stolen stone sword as as a shield of sorts, blocking the heavier blows.

There was just the matter of actually killing the things. They didn’t have a heart, or anything of the sort that could cause serious injury. 

_Well,_ Techno considers, _you can never go wrong with decapitation._

The matter of actually reaching their neck was the issue. The skeletons fought mercilessly, never tiring like Techno. His side was throbbing steadily, sweat dripping from his brow.

He should’ve known he wasn’t fully Piglin when he couldn’t stand the fucking _heat_ of the Nether. 

The poison was an afterthought in his mind, so he dismisses the tingling in his grazed arm when it first starts. 

It’s barely a hindrance, and the fighting is taking up all his attention anyway. He steadily makes his way forward, hitting them back and countering their blows. 

Then, hot white pain explodes across his veins, fire sizzling through every nerve ending and sending his hand spasming. 

His two swords fall to the floor, and Techno knows _he should really pick those up,_ but the floor is so inviting and the agony coursing through his entire body is almost unbearable.

Another wave hits, and he nearly passes out. 

Through the haze of tears, he sees the two skeletons triumphantly approach, one raising it’s sword.

At this point, he would take anything to get rid of the never ceasing pain. This whole Wither thing was an absolute bitch, he decides. Surely death can’t be worse?

Techno closes his eyes. He was going to die here, on the floor of this goddamn fortress, just how his Piglin tribe wanted it. Without a single person giving a care in the world.

He cracks open one eye, gritting his teeth. Techno may be many things, but he’s not a coward, and he can manage to look death in his eye as it greets him.

He meets the skeleton’s eyes, giving it the barest dip of his head. The skeleton swings its blade-

Only for a gleaming diamond sword to slice through it’s neck, leaving its skull to clatter to the floor. 

Everything after that is a blur, and Techno can hardly make sense of the jumbled mess in front of him through the roaring agony. 

There’s a flash of green. The figure whirls through the air, making quick work of the second skeleton and leaving both their bodies to topple over and dissolve into dust. The man stills.

It’s a human, he knows that much. The man is wearing a ridiculous green hat, and his diamond sword is sparkling, although that could just be a pain-induced hallucination on Techno’s part. 

He lets out a groan, head falling backwards.

The man falls to his feet next to him. 

“What the- Oh, God. You’re in bad shape, mate. Did any of them nick you?”

Techno mutters something between a _what does it look like_ and a _please kill me and end this eternal suffering._

Everything is growing fuzzy, and he dimly registers a cold hand pressing against the side of his face. His head’s being tilted up and a bottle is being pressed to his lips— _it could be poisoned_ —but Techno is as good as dead anyway and gulps down the foul mixture. “Right, good. Drink up.”

The pain begins to recede, and a calm settles over him. _So this is death then,_ Techno thinks sullenly. It really isn’t half-bad.

His savior speaks again. “You’re a Piglin, right? I’ve never seen a sort like you, but then again, I haven’t seen many Piglins.”

Techno dimly recalls tales of humans from before. Stories of Piglins being slaughtered for their gold, their bastions being looted and destroyed. Tales of government tests and experiments on his kind.

He struggles, and the man placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Relax, you’re safe here. I’ll keep watch for the night, and we can figure things out when you wake up.”

_But I’m dying_ , Techno thinks. The pain from the wither’s poison is almost gone now, and he feels his eyes slip close against his will, off into a dreamless sleep.


	2. A Place to Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every chapter I write without Wilbur takes a year off my lifespan ngl :(
> 
> woo chapter two here we go. this took me forever, mainly because I’ve been busy writing chap 3 (wilburs first chapter) and kinda lost motivation for this one. here it is tho, so hope you like :)) It’s not the best writing but yolo amiright

Techno isn’t expecting to wake up. He comes to quickly, cataloguing his injuries while still keeping up the facade of being asleep.

He can still hear the man - the man who saved his life - breathing evenly a few meters over.

His arm had been bandaged tightly, as well as the wound in his abdomen. All the pain is almost gone now. He normally heals relatively quickly, but never this fast. Just how long has he been out? 

They aren’t in the fortress anymore, instead a small netherrack cave. Just a few handfuls away, he can see the outcropping open up to a Warped forest, the familiar hissing of endermen in the distance. 

He sees his two swords stacked neatly by his side, and they’re in his hands before he can form a coherent thought.

Grip tightening on them, he slowly sits up and studies the man.

There’s a few torches pinned against the wall, illuminating their small space and flickering over his sleeping features.

He’s older than Techno, but not that much older. A decade, at most, give or take a few years. There’s the barest hint of a scraggly beard at his chin, and he has blonde hair and an apparent fondness for the color green. His tunic and cloak all bear the green stripes, as well as the hat he’s tossed aside. 

The man begins to stir, and Techno warily sits up further, pointing the blade in his direction.

He knows little of humans and their realm, the overworld, but he knows enough to be wary. He levels his blade at the man and clears his throat.

The man wakes, eyes widening as he takes in the sword leveled at his face. His hands fly up. 

“You saved me.” Techno grunts. “Why?” Surely there was _something,_ some ulterior motive. There always was, in situations like these. 

The man says something completely unintelligible, and Techno cocks his head. The man is speaking rapidly in some sort of gibberish. 

“Huh?” Techno snaps. 

Realization dawns on the man’s face, and he reaches for his bag. Techno points his blade threateningly, but the man only grabs his hat and puts it back on. 

“There,” the man says, his voice instantly legible. “Is that better?”

“I-how?” He asks, mystified. 

“Oh,” He says. “There’s these enchantments you can inscribe on certain items,” he holds out his sword, which is in fact glittering, and shows the various sigils inked on the hilt. “The one on my hat allows me to understand your Piglin dialect, and speak it as well. There’s also- Er, sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

Techno blinks. So the man was a sorcerer, of sorts, or something. There was no technology like that in the Nether, at least not that he’s heard of.

He grunts, and repeats, “Why did you save me?”

The man frowns. “I couldn’t just leave you there to die. The wither poison is a nasty way to go. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Out in the Nether, it was every man for themself. Techno had been left in enough harrowing situations to know this, making himself train, until he didn’t need to rely on others anymore to ensure his safety. 

And he doesn’t bat an eye when one of his brethren take a nasty tumble down a ravine, or get caught up in a fight with a Zombified Piglin. 

That’s just the way things were. If they lived, they lived. And if they didn’t? That wasn’t really his concern. 

Humans were a strange breed indeed.

A dozen questions sat on the top of his tongue. _Why were you in the fortress in the first place? Are you going back to the overworld?_

Instead, Techno merely says, “Alright.”

The man snorts. “You’re not one for speaking, huh? What’s your name?”

Techno chooses to ignore him, slipping both his blades away and tightening the laces on his shoes.

The man sits up, brows drawing together. “Where are you going?”

Home, Techno thinks, but that’s not right. He doesn’t really have one of those anymore, does he? “Away,” he says simply.

He doesn’t recognize his surroundings, but bastions and Piglin colonies are fairly common. He can probably find one within a day, if he’s lucky, and camp out for a bit. 

Just until he regains his footing. Then he can go off into the wilderness, and then...

_What next?_ He thinks. Live the rest of his days, slipping between biomes and hunting Hoglins? Settle down somewhere, waiting for an inevitable fight to eventually claim him, if he doesn’t succumb to boredom first?

It wasn’t a glorious life, but it wasn’t like he was going to amount to much in his home village either. 

The man appraised him. “You’re still young, do you have a family out there? Friends? Anyone?”

Techno felt his lip curl. “I’m doing fine on my own.”

The man protests. “You were bleeding out in a fortress when I found you, that isn’t exactly _fine.”_

The man stands suddenly, and Techno flinches back. The exit is approximately seven steps away, and he can easily slip under the man’s arm and be gone in a few moments. 

He stops a few paces away, however, and Techno forces himself to relax. The man won’t just attack him for no reason, right?

Even if he does try anything, Techno is far from helpless. 

“I said ‘m fine,” Techno grunts. “I appreciate your help, but I’ll be on my way now.”

He’s halfway out the cave when the man calls, “At least stay for breakfast. I have food. Your kind likes potatoes, right?”

Techno stands there for a moment. Outside, the forest beckons to him, but his stomach twists uncomfortably. It’s been a few days since he’s eaten, and potatoes sounded far more gourmet than foraging for food.

With a sigh, he turns back around. “Fine.” 

The man begins to light a fire in the center of the cave, flint sparking off steel. “The name’s Phil, by the way,” he says.

Techno takes a spot by the fire, ignoring the fond smile spreading across Phil’s face. He was so... so _cheerful_. It was grating on his nerves, with every knowing smile or grin. 

“This is just for breakfast,” he reminds him. “That’s it.”

“Right,” Phil says. “Of course.”

It wasn’t just for breakfast. Three potatoes later - he hadn’t realized just how _hungry_ he was until he took his first bite - he finds himself lingering. 

He doesn’t say much, other than the occasional grunt of affirmation, but Phil speaks enough for the both of them, talking about his life back in the overworld at his farm.

Sprawling wheat fields, a farm of cows, and a house he’d built brick by brick himself.

It sounds... _nice,_ actually. But Phil hasn’t even explicitly invited him, and Techno’s already overstayed his welcome so he really should be getting on his way-

“You know, you could come back with me.”

Techno drops his sword with a _thud._ “What?” He says drily. The overworld? With all the humans? The idea was almost laughable.

Especially as a Piglin-hybrid. The Piglins were more tolerable than most, and if they cast him out, he doesn’t want to know how humans would react to him.

“Just to check out the farm, maybe stay a few nights if you’d like. I have a portal linked up right next to my home, so you could return anytime you’d like to.” 

_This is a bad idea,_ Techno thinks. He’s known the man for a few hours, he can’t go prancing off into a new dimension with him. 

It goes against his whole moral compass completely. He already owes Phil a debt for saving his life, he wasn’t really keen on owing him further. 

_An entire new realm, though. A whole new host of mobs, plus all the new sights and biomes to see. And it wouldn’t be so fucking hot all the time._

“One night,” he agrees. “And I can come back?”

Phil nods along, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “Whenever you’d like.”

Surely, he can afford one night. Use up the rest of this man’s goodwill before it ran dry - because it was going to end eventually - and then slip off into the overworld. 

He sheathes his sword, stamps out the fire, and follows Phil out of the cave. 

-

It’s a trek to get back to Phil’s portal, and half the journey is spent with him hunched over a map and compass, angrily muttering. “It should be just around here. Just a bit to the left. No, right, actually.”

Techno scans their surroundings blearily, seeing a very familiar crimson tree. “You know, we’ve passed that tree thrice already.”

He frowns. “No, surely not. I haven’t seen this cliff before.”

Techno grunts, digging his sword aimlessly through the netherrack. Sweat dripping from every pore, and a lava fall pops nearby. “I think we’re lost.”

“Course not...just a bit turned around.” 

If Phil wasn’t so genuine and just nice, Techno would’ve been certain this was all some elaborate ruse. A trap of sorts, or something. 

His instincts told him to just leave Phil behind and be done with this little detour, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. 

“Here,” Techno mutters. “Hand it over.”

Back in the village, amongst his other titles, he’d been dubbed the “walking compass.” Likely just a result of his decent memory, but he could navigate himself out of anywhere. 

Phil hesitates a moment, and Techno can almost see the thoughts racing through his head, his doubts almost as tangible as the trees surrounding them.

_Should he trust this strange hybrid with his map - his one way out of here?_

But Phil must read some form of sincerity on his blank face, though, because he hands it over without a protest. “Alright,” he says. “Lets see if you can make sense of it.”

The parchment is well-worn, a distinct set of fold lines intersecting across the map. A few scribbles and harsh lines loosely mark out their surroundings. There’s the lava pit to their left - there - and the forest deepens up ahead before giving away to an expansive waste biome. 

There’s a roughly sketched black rectangle, which must be their portal.

Techno glances over it again, committing the lines to memory, and starts forward. “This way,” he says, beginning to climb up a steep ascent that levels out to a crimson forest. “S’posed to go up here, not down.”

Phil sighs behind him, following in his path. “Ah, you’re right. I always get turned around in this place.”

Techno begins to cut his blade through the foliage, slipping into the dull rhythm of the movements. Curiosity slips through. To be fair, it’s not like he gets to talk to a human everyday. “You come to the Nether often?”

“Every once in a while,” Phil hums, joining him in slicing through the foliage. The vines are awful and imposing, clutching at their clothing and slipping around their feet. “Had to restock on the potion supplies, this time. Fortresses are useful for that.”

“Mhm,” Techno says, although he doesn’t fully understand. There’d been potions, at his village, but they weren’t the best of concoctions - foul-tasting and with the tendency to leave you with a nasty side effect.

The conversation lulls to a steady silence, but Phil interjects after a moment. “Are you sure, about all this? You don’t have er- parents, or Piglins that’ll be after us?”

The sad truth was he’s, quite literally, dead to all of them. Dumping someone in the middle of a fortress filled with bloodthirsty creatures out for his head could really only be taken one way, and he didn’t think they’d be expecting him back anytime soon.

The entire matter of parents and family worked different in the Nether, too. They didn’t grow up with bubble-wrapped childhoods like mortal children, instead going off to train and work as soon as they were able. His parents, whoever they were, were just a faceless blur amongst the other villagers. 

_No attachments,_ he thinks. _Much easier that way._

Techno shakes his head firmly, offering Phil a hand to help him from a particularly fierce batch of weeds snaking around his ankle. The man takes it, his grip firm, and Techno lets go as soon as he’s settled. “No,” he says. “Nobody will mind.”

It’s been over an hour, and they’ve just broken through the final outer ring of the forest, revealing the endless waste stretching before them.

It’s vast, with two ghasts circling high above - if they’re lucky, they’ll make it to the portal without catching their attention, he doesn’t really fancy volleying the fireball back and forth - and a few Pigmen off in the distance. As long as they leave them unbothered, they should be clear.

With all the potential threats catalogued, Techno starts forward. “Should be over this ridge,” he calls back to Phil, who’s busy tucking his compass away in his sack.

“Thank God,” Phil sighs. “I’m ready to be out of this bloody place.”

That’s when he hears it. The distinct sound of a crossbow bolt being loaded, a finger just over the trigger and ready to release. It’s so quiet, his ears barely pick it up. 

It takes him two seconds to process what’s going on. Crimson forest. Techno has a battered gold chestplate on over his tunic. Phil doesn’t. 

His kind has a strange reaction, with gold. It doesn’t affect him as strongly, a result of his hybrid-ness, but sometimes he catches a glimpse of a Pigman’s sword or a patch of unharvested ore in the netherrack and feels the urge overtake him.

Other Piglins hoard as much gold they can get, and as long as he keeps a few ingots or a golden armor piece on himself, he can pass by the patrols safely. 

Of _fucking_ course, they run right into a Piglin patrol. 

Phil is a walking target with his bright netherite armor and green cloak. 

He can see them now, through the foliage. They’re hidden well, but he counts about ten on the ground, all heavily armed with crossbows and golden swords. 

He only considers it, just for a moment. Leave the man to the mercy of the crossbow and make a break from the portal. It’d be so easy, and he could be gone by the time the body hits the ground.

If it was another Piglin being ambushed, he wouldn’t even consider staying, but this is different. 

The man, who showed him kindness and saved his life, with no strings attached. He could’ve left him there on the floor of the fortress, could’ve let the brutal poison claim him, but _didn’t._

_A debt was a debt_ , and Techno may not be a man of honor but he could follow through with unsettled business. 

“Get down,” he shouts, pivoting backwards to cover him, sprinting. 

Phil starts, ducking down, and the sudden movement must alarm the shooter because the bolt releases with a snap, firing towards them.

Techno’s mind spins. _If he was the predator right now, where would he aim?_

Phil has a netherite chestplate on, and his bags obscure the rest of his body so they wouldn’t aim there. The throat is too risky of a shot, so they must be aiming-

There. 

He swings out his sword, deflecting the bolt harmlessly to the floor a few inches from Phil’s forehead. 

“Holy _shit,”_ Phil says shakily, eyes wide. 

There’s no time to waste. He heard a few angry grunts break out, and knows what comes next. They’ll storm them, and with their numbers, overwhelm them easily. 

“We need to run,” Techno says sharply. “ _Now.”_

It’s unnerving - being chased when he’s so used to chasing, the hunter becoming the hunted- and they take off through the forest. 

His feet tear through the netherrack, with Phil a few yards ahead of him. The Piglins are in hot pursuit, but only seem to be after Phil. A few catch up to him, and simply leave him alone. 

Techno tosses his sword in his hand and fans out the blade, swiping two Piglin’s feet from under them and sending them crashing to the floor.

It’s effective, and they are _definitely_ pissed at him now, bringing the focus off of Phil. The squeals and grunts grow louder, and a few slow to load up their crossbow shots. 

Techno really doesn’t fancy a bolt in the back, and with the blood frenzy the Piglins are in, their shots aren’t very accurate. A bolt meant for Techno could hit Phil instead.

The waste stretches out before them, and there’s nowhere to hide except-

Phil shouts,“There,” pointing ahead towards the massive structure in the distance. There’s a black rock piled haphazardly into a rough rectangular shape, and the inside is gleaming, purple and otherworldly.

Right. This must be their portal, then. The ticket back to the overworld and out of this hellhole. 

The ghast screeches suddenly, shooting a haphazard fireball in their direction. It misses them entirely, but lands a few feet behind them, a massive flaming crater left in its wake.

The Piglins are slowed momentarily, buying them a few seconds. Techno pivots, sending his sword flying through the air. He doesn’t see it land - doesn’t need to - the resulting squeal is answer enough. 

Phil reaches the portal first, turning and waiting for Techno to make it. “Hurry up,” he says. “We can go through first, and then deal with these guys when they come through.”

Techno hasn’t thought that far ahead, but of course the Piglins would follow them through the portal. They were nothing but persistent - he would know.

That simply won’t do. Phil’s already risked his neck for him multiple times, he couldn’t have these Piglins’ messing with his farm and terrorizing his home.

Techno withdrew his final sword, turning to face the weakened horde. “You go on ahead,” he says. 

Phil frowns. “In what world is that a good idea? No, no way. You’re coming with me.”

There’s a hand at his shoulder, but he shakes it off. Techno meets Phil’s gaze, calling on the bloodlust slowly building within him - like it did before every fight, every tournament, every victory - and lets it slip across his face for a moment.

Phil blanches, and Techno snarls “I’ve got this. Go.” This time, he complies. 

The portal is deafening, swirling and whooshing, before all goes silent, and Phil is gone. A few purple sparks drift through the air, illuminating the group of Piglins gathering before him.

There’s seven of them, now. Not the worst of odds, but not the best either.

_Just another tournament,_ he thinks. _Just one last fight._ It doesn’t matter that his side is still sore, and his muscles weak after the Wither poison’s coursed through his veins just hours before.

Techno brandishes his sword and steps forward, finally, _finally_ , giving in to his Piglin side and letting the bloodlust consume him. He pushes aside the fatigue, the pain -all these temporary factors - and unleashes with a growl.

—-

Techno throws himself through the portal, covered in blood that’s not his own, and it’s all a blur of _purple_ and _stars_ and his head throbs and his stomach twists on itself painfully and- 

He’s through. He hits the ground roughly, knees jarring against the rocky ground, and forces himself up. 

It’s _cold,_ he thinks. Everything is so green, unlike the harsh mahogany of the Nether, and the sky is so expansive and looks as if it might swallow him whole. Techno feels utterly out of his element for once. 

Barely, he makes out the farm, a few rickety wooden structures in the distance, and one very worried face swimming in his line of sight.

There’s two hands on his shoulder, and he would’ve shaken them off if he had any energy left. 

He barely refrains from being sick all over Phil’s shoes. The words he’s saying come out sluggishly, as if he’s underwater. “Shit,” he says. “You’re bleeding. I should have a potion that’ll fix you right up-“

“Not my blood,” Techno slurs. 

He didn’t just kill them. He’d slaughtered them, cutting them down one after another. They’d just kept coming, but none of them were as good, and his shoulders were throbbing mercilessly after just slicing through them-

He lets his golden sword clatter to the dirt. One of them had cut clean through it - but it was at a rather convenient angle that left the blade sharper than before, almost like a dagger- and then he’d driven it through their neck. Watched the life fade from their eyes without a shred of remorse. 

Techno feels sick again for an entirely different reason. The hand at his shoulder awkwardly helps him up, and it’s strangely comforting as well, which is just ridiculous.

Still, he just risked his neck for Phil. He let him go on ahead, let him save himself. _Why?The debt was already paid, so why?_

“Look,” Phil is saying. “I have a spare room and some extra clothes. We’ll get you settled, and figure out the rest later. Alright, kid?”

He was young, but he wasn’t that young. Just a few years shy of adulthood. Techno blinks, annoyed. “My name,” he mutters, “is Technoblade.”

If Phil finds the name odd, he doesn’t let it show. “Alright,” He sighs. “Technoblade it is. Follow me.”

Exhaustion clings to every fiber of his being, and he can hardly dredge up the energy to put on foot in front of the other.

Phil’s home is like nothing he’s ever seen before. It’s nighttime, but the area is lit up with lanterns hung methodically along fence posts. 

Everything is so lively and vibrant. There’s a light breeze coasting through the air, and the entire area is so much more open than the winding caves and enclosed wastes of the Nether.

The home is well-kept, neat shrubbery lining a quaint flower garden, and a bench overlooks the porch. Techno slowly trudges up the steps behind him, mind working in overdrive as he attempts to catalogue and make sense of everything around him. 

The inside is far nicer than any of the Piglin huts he’s seen. It’s divvied up into separate rooms, with strange pieces of furniture he doesn’t know the name for and chests stacked tidily everywhere.

The man blabbers on as Techno takes in his surroundings. There’s a front and back door, both easy to access, and three windows, that he can see. if the need to escape arises. 

“I’ll grab a washcloth,” he says, “so you can get all the blood off you. There’s some leftover stew from yesterday, if you’re hungry. Or there’s some pork-“ The man coughs suddenly, ending his sentence abruptly. “Nevermind.”

Techno says softly, “‘m fine.”

“Right then, lets get you settled in for the night.” He leads him down a narrow hallway, pointing out a few sections of the home. “That’s the sitting room back there, and my bedroom is at the very front of the house. There’s the enchanting room - which is best you just avoid for now - and here’s your room.”

_Temporary_ room, Techno thinks as he nods wordlessly. 

After Phil gets him a spare change of clothes and a damp cloth, the man lingers in the doorway. “I know we don’t know each other very well,” he says awkwardly. “But thank you. That must’ve been difficult, but you did what you had to today. I’m in your debt.”

Techno hardly musters the energy to dip his head, replying with, “Of course.” 

He’d sworn off acquaintances before. They just held you back, and left you with the complicated ordeal of growing attached to someone. It was really unnecessary, yet here he was, with a human owing him a debt. 

His life has really gone downhill the past two days. 

Phil leaves quietly, and he’s well and truly alone. 

Techno presses his back against the door, slowly sinking downwards. He’s already locked it - Phil said it’s alright, but he does have a spare key just in case - and now the events of the past two days fully dawn upon him.

He’d fought his own kind today - not just fighting like he’d done in tournaments, he’d _killed_ them. Unease swirled in his gut, but he could hardly dredge up an ounce of sympathy or regret. 

That’s the part that scared Techno the most. “ _Monster,”_ they had spat at him before, and now, he thinks, _they weren’t wrong._

“What the hell have I gotten myself into,” Techno mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. 

There’s still blood everywhere. Coating his tunic, clinging to his hands. The stench is cloyingly thick in the air, and he scrubs at his arms with a renewed vigor.

The clothes are far too big for him - he rolls down his pants thrice before they fit and bunches up the extra cloth in his tunic and stuffs it down his trousers. 

_Right_ , he thinks. One step at a time. Now, for the room. 

It’s small, ten footsteps between each wall, and there’s a small window up above the quaint bed. 

Peering out, there’s rolling expanses of the fields and the barn, almost out of sight. For a fraction of a second, he sees a creature of sorts, bright green and blending in with the foliage’s He blinks, and it’s gone. 

He still has his stone sword. The gold one is rubbish now. 

The room is empty save for the bed and a small desk. A few pens - potential weapons, perhaps - are stacked on top, as well as a few sheets of parchment and a variety of leather bound books.

He tucks the two pens away into his waistband, and takes a seat and flicks through the novels. 

The words all blur together, illegible and in an entirely different language from the Piglin text he’s used to. He stares at them until his eyes hurt and the neat lines start to swim in his line of sight. 

He really needs to learn their language. Especially if he wants to make a living in the over-world and blend in with the humans. 

Maybe Phil could teach him? But no, Techno cuts that line of thought off immediately. He wasn’t staying with this man. By the time it’s midday tomorrow, he’ll be gone.

Dust flies up as he shuts the book with a thud, stacking it neatly atop the stack. 

He triple-checks the lock on his door, scans every corner and underneath the furniture, before hesitantly sitting down on the bed. 

Exhaustion beckons, tugging at his every limb. Surely, it was safe here? Just to catch a few moments of rest after his strenuous day. 

He pulls the quilt from the bed, crawling beneath the bed and pressing his back against the wall and letting sleep claim him.

—-

Dawn approaches slowly, sunlight creeping over the floorboards and spilling across the walls. There’s a godawful screeching noise from outside - from an animal of sorts?

From his hiding spot, Techno groans, slowly extricating himself from the blanket.

Just a few minutes. That’s all the sleep he managed to catch last night. All the same, he feels far more well rested than any of his nights in the Nether. 

He can hear a few footsteps down the hall, the quiet noises of Phil getting ready for the morning. 

Techno is involuntarily drawn to the window. He’s tested the latches last night, and he knows he could easily slip away and make a break for the forest. An easy way to avoid any awkward morning conversation. 

But still, Phil was kind to him. Far kinder than any of his Piglin herd, and it was almost nice, having another person to listen to. Even if it was just mindless chatter. 

Techno sighs and slips out the door, going to greet Phil.

—-

Neither of them say anything when the sun begins to sink slowly over the horizon the night of his first day there. It should be time for Techno to be on his way. He knows this, and Phil knows this. 

An awkward tension hangs over the room as they eat quietly. Spoons scrape against their bowls, a fire crackling steadily in the hearth. 

“You know, I never did get a chance to show you around the farm,” Phil says offhandedly. He’d spent most of the morning ogling over the man’s massive weapon collection, crossbows, tridents, and swords galore. 

“Tomorrow, then.” Techno replies slowly. _One more day couldn’t hurt, right?_

Except another day passes, and one more after that. After a week, they lull into a steady sort of rhythm, and Techno comes to not mind life on the farm.

Phil shows him the farm, his massive field of cows and their respective names, and the sprawling fields of his crops. He helps him tend to the animals in the morning, and tidies up the crops and keeps them watered in the evenings. 

Techno has a perpetual sunburn across his brow and nose, and there’s always a bit of dirt smudged along his hands or under his fingernails. Every morning, he wakes with the rooster’s crow at sunrise and sets off to work.

Phil brings it up over the dining table one evening. “You know,” he starts. “I’ve been meaning to hire an extra hand to help around the farm. With the spare room and everything, it just makes sense.”

“Oh,” Techno says. So this was it, then. He was bound to overstay his welcome eventually, and this must be Phil’s polite way of telling him to leave. “Right, makes sense.”

“I can be packed and ready to leave by morning, if you need?” He offers.

Phil’s taught him about the overworld well-enough. There’s a village a few miles east he can camp out at, and surely a job isn’t that hard to find? 

He _was_ half-Piglin, but a cloak and hold hides most of his damning features. 

Phil furrows his brow from across the table and sets down his mug of coffee abruptly. “If thats what you want, I suppose so. I thought you’d be interested.”

Techno blinks, feeling like he’s missed a puzzle piece to this conversation. “Interested in what?”

Phil snorts. “The job, Techno. I’m offering you a permanent spot here, if you want to stay. I’ve been needing someone to set up a potato farm as well. The plot’s yours, if you want it.”

Techno blinks, processing the words. A permanent spot? Phil was asking him to- what? Stay? Have a place here, on the farm?

A small part of him finds the whole thing ridiculous. Here he was, a bloodthirsty Piglin-hybrid turned to a simple potato farmhand. 

A larger part of him thinks the idea sounds rather nice. “Alright,” he says, and Phil grins.


End file.
